


A Day in the Life of Professor Quirinus Quirrell

by gingertart50



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 18:03:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1657493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingertart50/pseuds/gingertart50
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An excerpt from his journal as translated from Gobbledegook.<br/>Written for hp_funnyfest; Requestor: Fourth Rose<br/>Claim: - A day in the life of Professor Quirrell, while he was playing host for Voldemort.<br/>Beta - the wonderful Rakina. This is a gen fic, folks. No smut!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day in the Life of Professor Quirinus Quirrell

07.00

Woke up and did reality check. Nope, still not supreme overlord of the Wizarding World. Damn, he’ll be annoyed. Better get up, then.

07.05

Bathroom. He whinged and gave me a splitting headache. Why can’t he learn to keep his eyes shut in the shower? Yes, Master, okay, but unless I shampoo we’ll both feel all itchy and God knows we don’t want to end up looking like that greasy git, Snape, do we? The Dark Lord refused to clean his teeth AGAIN but damn it, he isn’t eating anything so do I care if he has teeth covered in green algae? Forgot to ward staff bathroom door again, heaven help us if a house elf comes in while he’s pontificating from the back of my skull.

07.30

Down to breakfast. Had to explain yet again to McGonagall why I’ve started wearing a purple turban. Don’t think she believed my excuse that it prevents my head exploding if I encounter a yak. That old Mongolian hex story is wearing a bit thin. Maybe I ought to plead a head cold and be done with it. Had silent disagreement with Dark Lord about tea versus coffee. Just because he needs a hefty dose of caffeine to wake up in the morning, doesn’t mean I have to coat my insides with tannin. They’re MY insides after all. I’ll be glad when he gets a body of his own. This discorporate spirit lark is getting on my wick

08.30

To DADA classroom for fourth year Ravenclaw class. I attempt to explain the uses of the Unforgivable Curses and possible means of self defence. He keeps muttering inside the turban, which is very off-putting. Things like: “stupid Mudloods have no chance of withstanding Crucio,” and “there IS no defence against Avada Kedavra.” It is very hard to follow the syllabus when I know perfectly well that the Dark Arts – as personified by the lump on the back of my head – is sniggering at every word. He also wants to know which of the pupils are pure-bloods. How the hell should I know? Stupid Vold– no, I didn’t think that! Bad Quirinus! Must remember he’s a Legilimens.

Next we had the Gryffindor first years, a class which includes Harry Potter. Average looks, average intelligence, just a typical Gryffindor brat, yet I can feel his Lordship frothing at the mouth as soon as the child walks into the room. I do hope no one notices the wet patch on the back of my turban. It could be worse, he could be hiding inside my trousers

10.15

Have never been so glad to escape into the staff room for a cuppa. Then what happens? I get cornered by Severus Snape. I really hate the way that bloke looms and crowds me into a corner. He murmurs, “I’m watching you, Quirrell,” in that deep, dark, ominous voice of his and I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. Is he trying to hit on me? If so, is the staff room really the best place? The worst part is, I think the Dark lord really likes him; maybe it’s the whole tall, dark, brooding Byronic thing – not that the DL will have heard of Byron. Luckily we all get totally distracted when Irma Pince rushes in to say that she's caught two Slytherin fourth years attempting to persuade a female lava salamander to give them blowjobs in the stacks of the library. Stupid boys. Don’t they ever listen to their Care of Magical Creatures instructor? Lava salamanders are invariably gay except during the waning moon of the mating season. They should have used a male. Anyway, it successfully distracts Snape, who stalks off to make a burn salve and put the idiots in detention

10.30

Sixth year NEWT class, involving some highly dubious literature confiscated from two of the boys. They were sniggering over Gilderoy Lockhart’s latest bestseller _Networking with the Naughty Naiads of Northern Norway._ Hm. This might bear investigating. I’m getting a bit pissed off with the sudden celibacy imposed by the knob on my head. I can hardly insist on keeping my turban on during sex. Maybe I should ask the Dark Lord to Imperio a lava salamander...

12.15

Lunch in the Great Hall. Oh joy, Snape comes sniffing around, decides to sit next to me and asks complicated questions about where I’ve travelled and what happened to me and worst of all, why did I apply for this job? I can hardly tell him that I have a Dark Lord attached to the back of my skull and I’m here because he wants to steal the Philosopher’s Stone, now can I? Someone told me that Snape wanted the DADA job anyway. So yah boo sucks, Snapey. Something tells me the Greasy Git isn’t a happy bunny. Particularly when Dumbledore tells us that he is calling an emergency staff meeting after dinner. Snape storms off in a snit. That man is _such_ a drama queen. I ask if the Dark Lord knows the secret of getting my academic robes to billow like Snape’s but he refuses to answer. Perhaps it’s a Potions thing.

13.00

Second year Hufflepuffs. We practice disarming charms. One of the boys takes me too literally and we waste half the lesson waiting while Madam Pomfrey reattaches limbs, soothes hurt feelings and doses with Calming Draught. I begin to wish that I had stuck with Ancient Runes.

14.15

One of the sixth year Slytherins smuggles Shrinking Solution from the Potions class and chaos ensues when he soaks a paper pellet in the potion and fires it into the middle of a group of Gryffindor girls. I have had enough and I go down to the dungeons to fetch Snape. He refuses to sort it out, saying that the problem occurred in my lesson so it is my problem. I explain that it was his potion and his Slytherin. He shrugs. I suggest that I therefore remove a hundred points from Slytherin and put all the Slytherins in the class into detention next Saturday, ensuring that the house Quidditch team is minus three members. Snape can glare for England but he capitulates. The Dark Lord whispers that I should try to get onto the right side of Snape, that he is an ally. I’m not so sure. I think the Dark Lord might be gay. That is a horrible thought.

16.00

Another day of teaching survived. I call the house elves for a cup of tea and digestive biscuits and try to get some marking done, but no such luck. His Dark Lordship has been quiet almost all day and now he wants to explain at length why he hates Dumbledore, Harry Potter, the Aurors, the Ministry of Magic, half-bloods and Muggles. I have heard it all before but when I protest, he gives me a stinking headache again. So I have to listen while I’m trying to make sense of essays about hinkypunks. He drones on about wanting to teach Defence against the Dark Arts and Dumbledore refusing to give him the job. If he really wanted to do this, why isn’t _he_ marking the damned essays, huh?

18.00

Dinner. Snape is stalking me again. I only escape by suddenly discovering that I need to talk to Hagrid at great length about the lava salamander incident. The big oaf is more than happy to rabbit on about salamander mating habits; I think Hagrid likes me, which is worrying. Snape sits down in a huff and stares at Potter. That man is weird. Even the first year Gryffindors notice. The Dark Lord tells me that the one I really need to watch out for is Dumbledore, but Snape is enough to put the wind up anyone. 

19.30

We float, sidle, stalk, bustle, glide, stomp or slither into the staff room, all equally annoyed at having to give up our evening. McGonagall sweeps in clutching a load of papers. Dumbledore is late, and when he does arrive, he is covered in dog hairs, has cobwebs in his beard and a rip in his robe that displays his underwear. Doesn't he realise that we can all see his thong? Tartan; the McGonagall plaid, to be precise. So that’s how she got the job. 

He clears his throat and we all attempt to look politely interested, apart from Hagrid, who is genuinely raptly following every word, and Snape, who keeps staring at my turban. Dumbledore explains about a priceless artefact that he has secreted at Hogwarts, guarded by Hagrid’s monstrous three-headed dog, and how we will all need to devise ways of protecting it. Prompted by the Dark Lord, I suggest a troll, since I have had some degree of success with them in the past. The old coot is delighted. Snape chunters on about some complicated logic puzzle involving potions and magical fire. I pay the minimal amount of attention and wonder whether Dumbledore knows more than he lets on. Sprout waffles about Devils Snare. Hooch arrives, windswept and breathless, explaining that she had a practice with her sixth year Quidditch students. We all nod knowingly. The Dark Lord is whispering that the artefact must be the Philosopher’s Stone so I attempt to concentrate on what the mad old coot is saying but Hooch sits down next to me. 

Snape and I are the only unattached male staff under the age of fifty and Snape is as camp as a boy scouts’ jamboree. This wasn’t a problem until the Dark Lord attached himself to my head but now I have Hooch squeezing my left thigh under cover of our robes. She smells of talcum powder and broom-handle polish. Under the circumstances, it is just as well that Sinistra notices. Hooch stifles a squeak and grabs her skirts, then surreptitiously disentangles a grass snake from her robe and shakes it away under the chairs. I shrug apologetically at Sinistra. Hagrid spots the snake. 

“Aww, look, i'n’t 'e cute?”

“I thought we had some sort of a relationship,” Sinistra mutters, “But obviously I was mistaken. Quirrell, you’re a two-timing bastard.”

“Look, I’m s-s-sorry, I c-c-can explain,” I say, in an attempt to placate her, but all the staff are now listening avidly. 

“I’m sure you can,” Sinistra says frostily, flicking a contemptuous glance at my turban. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but obviously our nights upon the Astronomy Tower meant nothing to you.”

“Hold on a mo’,” Hooch says, her yellow eyes glinting dangerously. “Have you been seeing that star-gazing bint, Quirrell? From what you told me behind the broom shed, you wanted the relationship with me!”

Oops. I grin foolishly in an attempt to defuse the situation. It does not work. Hooch pulls a Beater’s bat from the depths of her robes and attempts to hit Sinistra over the head. Sinistra counter-attacks with a hex that makes Hooch’s hair grow ten feet long and tangle around her feet. Dumbledore calls out, “Ladies! Please!” and casts a binding hex on the pair of them. Snape smirks so hard that his face must hurt. 

“I ap-p-p-ologise if I m-m-misled you, ladies,” I say, wringing my hands. The Dark Lord is prodding me to get us out of this ridiculous situation and I sacrifice my pride. “I h-h-have never meant to g-give anyone the wrong idea.” Damn. There goes any chance of a shag from either of them when this is over. Snape folds his arms and looks superior. The conjured snake bites McGonagall in the ankle and she spills her tea into Sprout’s lap. When McGonagall kicks the snake across the room, Hagrid howls in outrage and Sprout threatens to castrate him. Dumbledore closes the meeting in some disarray. I go to my room and open the firewhisky. At least if I have a hangover tomorrow, so will the Dark Lord.


End file.
